


Offensive Dresses

by Twilighthawke



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Domestic, Dresses, F/M, Fluff, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3679845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twilighthawke/pseuds/Twilighthawke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sophie Cousland; Blight fighter, two-handed weapon wielder turns; Sophie Cousland-Therin and can't find any clothes that fit.<br/>(This is technically 1.Beginnings for the Dragon Age 100 Challenge)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Offensive Dresses

Sophie glared at the pile of motionless fabric. If she had been a mage, it might have burst into flames by now. She was in her smallclothes, standing in the middle of her new room at the palace. Things were settling into a kind of normalcy after the Blight. Things were still getting repaired, but life went on. Sophie’s in particular.

She had begun a Noble, became a Grey Warden recruit, evolved into ‘solver of all of Thedas’ problems’, eventually to General, and she was getting a new beginning as Queen of Ferelden. It actually wasn’t very different from ‘solver of Thedas’ problems’, but it required a new wardrobe.

“Andraste’s flaming ass!” She exclaimed and kicked a footstool over. There was a knock on the door and she cursed again.

“That wasn’t very ladylike,” Alistair’s amused voice came through the door. “If the Queen was in there you’d be in trouble.” He teased.

“Har dee har, love.” Sophie huffed and ducked behind the changing screen. “You can come in, I’m just getting dressed."

The door opened and the King of Ferelden stepped into her room. Their room. Sophie allowed herself a smug smile at that thought. That blond cutie was all hers. The blond cutie in question sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off his shoes.

“It’s midday,” Alistair stared at the ceiling and stretched. “Shouldn’t you have been dressed several hours ago?” he asked reasonably, the git.

“I was,” Sophie whinged. Indeed, she had been dressed in her leathers until a few hours ago. “Arl Tegan’s gifts came a few hours ago. He sent the latest in Ferelden fashion.” She made the words ‘Ferelden fashion’ sound as sarcastic as possible.

“Oh?” Alistair looked towards the dressing screen. “That was nice of him?” He asked in an apprehensive tone of voice.

“Sure,” Sophie snorted as she stepped out from behind the screen, one of Ferelden’s latest shrugged on her shoulders. “If Arl Tegan had any idea what size I am.” She scowled and spread her arms in an ‘all of me’ gesture.

Sophie had always been a fighter. Her mother had taught her from a very young age when it was appropriate to wield a pen and when it was appropriate to wield a sword. Sophie had split her time evenly between the two. However, she had just spent a little over a year focusing solely on stabbing people. She had biceps to rival Alistair’s at this point. She doubted even any of her dresses from back home would fit her.

And these dresses certainly didn’t. It was too short, it didn’t tie at the back, and if she moved her arms a fraction of an inch the dress would come apart at the seams. She felt like a man in a woman’s dress.

Alistair laughed. He laughed like he had just made the world’s funniest joke, instead of looking at it. Sophie glared at him as he clutched his sides, gasping for air. Tears pricked at her eyes and she threw a box at him before disappearing behind the changing screen again.

“Sophie,” Alistair stood up. “Love, wait I’m sorry.” He had stopped laughing by the time he came around the screen to do damage control.

“No, by all means, laugh,” Sophie extricated herself from the offending garment and sat on a chair. “Laugh at the biggest joke in Ferelden.” She was still fighting back tears and refused to look at him. He crouched down in front of her, concerned now.

“What’s wrong, dearest,” Alistair leaned around so she’d face him, she turned further away. She _never_ cried, she’d be damned if she let him see her like this. “Besides, you can’t be the biggest joke in Ferelden,” he continued lightly. “Or I couldn’t take the throne.” He smiled when she snorted a laugh.

“I’m sorry,” Sophie relented and looked at him finally, feeling silly and girly and not like herself at all.

“Sorry for what, love?” He asked softly.

“I’m sorry I’m like… like this,” she gestured to her muscled form as the tears started to fall. “I’m sorry I can’t fit into any of these stupid dresses.” She gestured angrily at said dress. Alistair looked baffled.

“Why?” He asked and she almost laughed at how confused the question sounded.

“You gotta look so sodding handsome all the time,” She gestured at all of him, looking smart in whatever regal nonsense he had put on that morning. “I wanted to look pretty for you.” She mumbled, embarrassed.

Sophie didn’t have self-esteem issues. She was a dark-eyed, dark-haired Amazon goddess and she knew it. In general, she didn’t particularly care what she wore. But she had forced Alistair to be king, which meant he had to dress up. She wanted him to see her as a boon, his pretty and dangerous queen.

“For me?” His eyebrows nearly shot off his face. She laughed and sniffled a little.

“Yes, for you, you idiot.” She ran her thumb along his jaw. “I’m not trying to seduce anyone else.” He caught her hand and kept it pressed to his face.

“Right,” he kissed her palm. “You’ve already seduced me sweetheart.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I know you like this kind of dress though so I thought--“ he cut her off with a kiss that left her breathless.

“I like _you_ ,” He insisted. “Actually, I _love_ you, so it doesn’t matter to me if you wear that or plate armor.” He cupped her face in his hands and wiped away the tearstains that streaked her face.

“You don’t want me to wear plate armor all the time,” she told him, but she was smiling now.

“It’d give _me_ an excuse to wear plate armor all the time,” he grinned and kissed her again.

“We’d both be pretty hard to get out of those full suits of armor,” she raised one eyebrow meaningfully.

“Oh right,” he put on a mock serious face. “Dresses for both of us then.” He nodded like it was a decision of state and she laughed in earnest. It was the laugh that only happened when Alistair was around, and he knew it. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I was serious about looking pretty for you,” she said and interrupted him when he started to protest. “So I’ll get some dress makers in here and you can tell me I look beautiful in everything they make.” She grinned as he lifted her into his arms.

“Do you have to do that right now?” He asked, prompting another one of those laughs.

“Don’t you have a meeting with Arl what’s-his-face?” She played with his hair.

“No it was Duke Something-or-other,” he carried her over to the bed, the both of them giggling. “And he can wait.”

She kissed him and decided that she was going to like being queen. It was going to be her favorite new beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> I dont care if you killed an archdemon with nothing but gumption and a demon baby, if YOU didn't fit in any thing, you would cry too.  
> Im actually really nervous about this one. its not often we catch Sophie in a weak moment, and i dont want anyone to get the wrong idea bout my beautiful amazon goddess. also, these are some pretty great Alistair lines if i do say so myself. Please please please comment.


End file.
